


Movie Night

by thepopeisdope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Human Castiel, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5245574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepopeisdope/pseuds/thepopeisdope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Imagine person A of your OTP trying to secretly kiss person B’s cheek while they’re asleep but B shifts and A accidentally kisses their mouth and pulls back flustered and looks down at a wide eyed B who pulls them back for a real kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful [Arianna](http://ariwillowtwist.tumblr.com)!

Tuesdays, it has been established, are movie night.

Now, typically, something as innocuous as “movie night” would be an event Dean looks forward to in the bunker. There aren’t often things to look forward to at all, as is the life of a hunter. Frankly, he counts his day as exciting if he gets to cook a real dinner in the bunker’s old kitchen, or if one of them finds a lead on a hunt that miraculously _isn’t_ like the other five hundred that they’ve worked over the years.

But movie night… Movie night is a grey area. Part of Dean really wants to be excited for the weekly bonding time between himself, Sam, and Cas, but that part only wins out about a third of the time, when it’s his week to put on his movie of choice. It’s decidedly _less_ fun when Sam or Cas get to pick, since they end up watching honest-to-god chick flicks alarmingly often.

Chick flicks or nature documentaries, which he can’t say are any better. Cas has picked _March of the Penguins_ at least twice, much to Dean’s chagrin. Watching it once was bad enough, but repeating the experience? Dean has never had a greater desire to see the apocalypse kick-started as he had during those redundant viewings.

Okay, maybe that’s a little extreme. It wasn’t _that_ bad, especially when it put such a permanent smile on Cas’ face. Sure the guy’s human now, but even six or so months after his status changed for good, _human_ is much more of a species shift than one of a personality. For the most part, he’s every bit the angel as he ever was: baffled by human mannerisms, liable to forget to eat, or otherwise take care of himself. So to see him happy and relaxed enough to smile…

Dean will suffer through. Of course he will.

But only if he _really_ has to.

Damn nerd had to pick a _nature documentary_ for his favorite movie. It’s just Dean’s luck, really.

“Dean?”

Dean startles hard enough that his laptop nearly falls from his lap to the floor, and it would have, if it weren’t for his quick reflexes. The screen had long since gone dark with his mind as distracted as it was, so he closes the lid and sets the device aside all together before rotating on the couch to face Cas where he stands in the doorway to the sitting room.

Another thing about Cas? Dean is about ninety-nine percent sure that whatever traces of angel that may remain in him give him the power of knowing when he’s being talked about or—even more disconcertingly—thought about. The number of times he’s walked up on Dean _exactly_ as Dean is thinking about him is uncanny.

Or flat-out embarrassing. There had been one time when Cas had knocked on Dean’s bedroom door…

Dean prefers not to think about that afternoon.             

He clears his throat, aware that it’s been a beat too long since he turned to stare at his friend without actually _saying anything_. He should do that, right?

“What’s up, Cas?”

Cas ventures further into the room, coming to a stop directly next to where Dean sits on the couch. He’s clad in a plain, white t-shirt and a threadbare pair of Dean’s old flannel pajama pants. Even with the frequency that Dean has been seeing him dressed like this, the casualness of the ensemble still sends part of his mind reeling. “Where’s Sam?”

“Went to see Jody,” Dean replies. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No.” Cas moves around Dean and settles himself on the opposite side of the couch, legs folded beneath him but body still turned to continue the conversation. It isn’t a large couch by any means, so this means that even without trying, they’re almost touching. “Is Jody alright?”

Dean can’t help but smile at his friend’s concern. “Yeah, Jody’s fine. Sam wanted to check out some special exhibit at a university in South Dakota, though, so he decided to make a trip of it. He left a few hours ago.”

“Oh.” When Cas readjusts his position on the couch minutely, the soft fabric over his knee brushes the back of Dean’s hand, making his fingers twitch. “He’s missing movie night.”

Dean shrugs. “His loss. Your pick tonight, right?” He reaches and around grabs the TV remote from the coffee table, quickly opening up the Netflix application before handing over the reins to the other man. “How about you get something started, and I’ll go make popcorn?”

Cas eyes him for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. Is there… Do you have a preference on what we watch?”

The question catches Dean by surprise, but he thinks he hides it well. Cas hasn’t asked for Dean’s input since the first few weeks when movie night became a regular thing. That isn’t to say that Cas is rude about it, of course, or that he wouldn’t listen to anything Dean had to say on the matter, but it’s still out of the ordinary.

But with Cas—it’s always so hard to tell if he’s up to something, or just being his normal Cas self and trying to make a kind gesture.

In response to the question, Dean just shrugs again. “Whatever, man,” he says. “Pick something good, though, yeah?” He gets up from the couch and starts to walk from the room, stopping only when he reaches the door to turn back and ask, “You want anything besides popcorn?”

Cas had already been staring at Dean when he turned, and now averts his gaze toward the television to watch the cursor flick through the tabs of suggested videos just a bit to quickly for Cas to actually be reading any of the titles. He hums in thought for a moment before asking, “Do we still have licorice?”

Dean nods, not caring that Cas can’t see the motion. “Sure. Popcorn and licorice coming up.”

He makes his way to the kitchen without sense of a rush. He doesn’t know why Cas is being weird this evening—and that he _is_ being weird is pretty clear since he’d also asked about Sam, when he normally would have known the younger Winchester’s whereabouts—but he’s more than willing to give the guy a few extra minutes to sort himself out.

In the kitchen, Dean moves on near autopilot to the snack cabinet to retrieve two bags of popcorn and the giant, half-full tub of redvines that he had stashed there a week or so ago, his and Cas’ secret from Sam. He microwaves the popcorn bags one after the other and then transfers their contents into a large glass bowl. Grabbing that, the redvines, and a pair of beers for good measure, he takes it all back to the sitting room.

In all, he is probably gone for no more than ten minutes.

Cas has put on _Star Wars_.

The effort Cas put into the choice is not lost on Dean. Even though Dean had left him on Netflix, Cas had clearly gone and sought out the _Star Wars_ DVD set from the collection of movies in Dean’s room. He would have had to wrestle with the shitty DVD player, too, which both Cas and Sam usually ignore on the basis of just how determined it actually is to not behave.

If Dean thought that there was a reason for Cas, behavior to be interpreted as suspicious before, that suspicion has now tripled at least.

However, the moment Cas turns and meets Dean’s eye, all of Dean’s paranoia about ulterior motives is shot to bits by his friend’s bright grin. Cas is quick to take the beer Dean offers him, as well as the tub of licorice, so that Dean can more easily situate himself in his own corner of the couch. The Redvines end up sitting on the coffee table, while the bowl of popcorn rests in the meager space between Dean and Cas for easier access.

Once they’re ready, Dean can’t help but smile and nod at the TV. “Good choice.”

Cas takes the first swig of his beer and smiles back, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Thank you, Dean.”

They start the movie without much more delay. Despite the number of times he has seen the original _Star Wars_ trilogy, it is entirely too easy to sink into the rewatch that’s currently playing, happily munching on his snacks drinking his beer all the while. He only _barely_ refrains from saying some of the lines in time with the characters, tempted to try and get Cas to roll his eyes and smile that soft smile that Dean likes so much.

It’s a really nice smile, Dean thinks. Cas rarely smiles as it is, and that one in particular? Dean’s only ever seen it directed at himself.

Not that he’s cataloguing Cas’ smiles or minute facial expressions or anything. Because he definitely isn’t.

Ah, hell. Who is he even trying to kid anymore? So maybe he’s a _tad_ bit interested in his angel (ex-angel, whatever). Or, you know. More than a tad. But still—there’s nothing wrong with that. Totally fine. He’s accepted it. He had to, after all, with Cas literally _living with him_ , and being around _all the time_.

But that one smile. Dean’s still thinking about it, has the image of it stuck in his head. It’s just so damn _fond_. The temptation to say a quote or make some dumb joke is growing with every second, even the mere potential of seeing that smile starting to weigh on him. Honestly, Dean can’t think of a good reason why he _shouldn’t_ give into the urge at this point. It’s not like Cas knows what he’s up to, right? Cas has no reason to suspect just how hooked on him Dean is.

Dean comes out of his train of thought long enough to evaluate how far into the movie they’ve gotten, the gang having just arrived on the Death Star to rescue Leia, before takings a quick peek at Cas—

And all of his half-formed plans come crashing down. Cas is sitting slightly curled in on himself, his knees folded near his chest, with his head tucked against the back of the couch, turned in Dean’s direction. His eyes, though, are closed, his face gone lax with sleep.

It is, quite possibly, even more endearing than the sight of the smile Dean was hoping to earn. He can’t even be mad about the missed opportunity, to be honest.

Slowly so as not to disturb Cas, Dean moves the (now mostly empty) popcorn bowl from the space between them to the coffee table. While he’s leaning forward he checks Cas’ beer bottle, and is completely unsurprised to find it empty. Since his fall, the dude’s a total lightweight. There’s no question in Dean’s mind that just the small amount of alcohol in the beverage is at least partly responsible for Cas’ current state of unconsciousness.

As Dean watches him—and he _is_ watching Cas, because even _Star Wars_ pales in comparison to this alternate view—a new plan starts to form in his mind. It’s dumb, incredibly so, and nigh on pointless to boot. But for some reason it sticks and refuses to shift from his thoughts, feeding off of latent desires and long-suppressed curiosities until he’s convinced that it’s not as bad of an idea as it probably is.

If he’s careful, he could just… lean over and kiss Cas. Not on the lips—he wouldn’t want to do _that_ without Cas’ explicit permission—but on the cheek, maybe. A kiss on the cheek would be okay, right? Cas won’t even know that it happened, and Dean will have the satisfaction of knowing that at least he’s _done_ something.

With Sam out of the bunker, when will he have a better opportunity?

Dean shifts into Cas’ space, going so far as to hold his breath when he aligns their faces. He has to twist himself a bit awkwardly to get to his target, which is of course the side of Cas’ face that is farthest from Dean. The side closest to Dean’s own face is currently smooshed into the back of the couch. It looks pretty uncomfortable, really.

Once Dean is in position, his lips hovering just above Cas’ cheek, he hesitates.

Maybe… maybe he shouldn’t do this. It’s not like there’s a point to it anyway, right? Right. There’s no need.

_Nut up, Winchester_ , a voice in his mind whispers. _Just fucking do it._

Dean takes a deep, steadying breath through his nose and then dips his head down to perform the act.

Just as Dean is about to make contact, Cas shifts in his sleep, turning his head a few inches to the right.

Instead of the smooth skin of Cas’ cheek, Dean’s lips land on lips. The touch shorts out Dean’s brain all together, because _Jesus Christ Cas’ lips are so soft. Holy fuck their lips are touching and this was never supposed to happen_.

It lasts for only a second before Dean jerks back, surprise and regret clamoring over one another in his mind. He didn’t mean to do that, he didn’t _want_ to do that, and yet here he is, with the clear imprint of Cas’ lips on his own and a memory he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite know what to do with.

And then, because Dean Winchester is nothing if not the universe’s favorite running joke, the entire situation goes from bad to worse when Dean manages to look back up and finds Cas staring at him with wide, incredibly blue eyes.

Dean swallows roughly. “Cas, I—”

Before he can even begin to spin a lie, Cas whimpers in the back of his throat and reaches up to card fervent, demanding fingers through the back of Dean’s hair, before pulling Dean down and forcing their mouths back together. Dean over-balances and practically falls into Cas’ lap, but he hardly even cares when Cas is kissing him like he is, _devouring him_ with lips and tongue. Dean quickly gets with the program and reciprocates as best he can, even going so far as to mirror his friend’s position and bury one of his own hands in Cas’ hair.

They kiss for what feels like hours before Dean pulls off with a gasp, his chest heaving and lips aching. Beneath him—because somehow Dean is now _completely_ straddling Cas’ lap, hoping to god that his friend doesn’t notice the raging hard-on that’s straining against the front of his jeans—Cas is in similar condition, eyes still incredibly wide as they roam Dean’s face.

“Cas,” Dean, perhaps miraculously, manages to say. “What—?”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, still watching Dean closely. “Why did you kiss me?”

Dean feels his face heat. “I—Um. Well in my defense, I was _aiming_ for your cheek. It’s not _my_ fault that you moved.”

The corners of Cas’ lips twitch with the hint of a smile. He asks again, “Why?”

“Because I wanted to,” Dean confesses quietly. He barrels on quickly, “But what I did hardly even counts as a kiss compared to what you just did. What the hell was that, man?”

Cas shrugs, completely unbothered by Dean’s attempt to turn the situation on him. He settles his hands on Dean’s hips, tucking his thumbs under the hem of Dean’s shirt and brushing them across the warm skin there while he speaks, causing Dean to shiver. “Had I not fallen asleep, I had planned on propositioning you tonight.”

Dean just about chokes on his own saliva. “I—Wait. What?” he splutters. “You were going to _what_?”

“Proposition you,” Cas repeats calmly, like he would for an uncomprehending child. “I am attracted to you both sexually and romantically, and I was hoping to draw you into a discussion as to whether you might reciprocate in at least the former. I would very much like to have sex with you, Dean.”

Dean can’t help but laugh at Cas’ bluntness, his shock giving way to elation. Another thought occurs to him then, and his grin widens. “That’s why you put _Star Wars_ on. You were trying to get me in a good mood, you sneaky son of a bitch.”

Cas grins back at him. “Perhaps. Did it work?”

Dean leans back in to kiss Cas again, reveling for a moment in the combined drag of their lips, as easy and natural as if they’ve been doing it for years as opposed to minutes. He smiles against Cas’ mouth and says, “Yeah, Cas. It worked.”

“Good. Does this mean we can have sex?”

Dean wants to say yes, _god_ does he want to say yes. (And, much more pressing, his _dick_ wants him to say yes as well, twitching in a plea to accept what Cas is offering, consequences be damned.) But first, he has to ask, “Cas, are you sure?”

Cas gives him a look that ranks somewhere between annoyed and amused. He rolls his hips slightly, drawing Dean’s attention to the erection tenting the front of his thin pajama pants. Dean can’t help but notice how little they hide, and swallows hard.

“Okay,” he says with a somewhat frantic nod. “Okay, yeah.”

And then they’re kissing again, only this time while their mouths are occupied, Dean doesn’t hesitate to use his leverage on Cas’ lap to grind their clothed cocks together. The pressure makes Cas cry out, gripping Dean’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Frustratingly, the thick denim of Dean’s jeans are far more restricting than Cas’ pajama pants, and he finds himself nearly overwhelmed with the sudden need to get them both on an even playing field.

In one quick, fluid motion, Dean climbs off of Cas’ lap and forcefully yanks Cas’ pants down his hips and off his legs in a single sweep, only to reveal that Cas had gone _commando_ for fuck’s sake. The action earns him an indignant yelp which he promptly ignores in favor of quickly stepping out of his own pants—and boxers, since Cas can’t be the only one of the two of them completely naked, now can he?—and returning to straddle Cas.

Cas, for his part, appears to be pleasantly surprised by the way things are progressing.

Their shirts, too, disappear rather quickly after that, their lips separating only long enough for the articles to be removed and thrown to join their pants on the floor. Then it’s just skin, skin, and more skin, and Dean’s mouth fucking _waters_ at the sight of it all. At the sight of Cas.

Torn though he is about leaving Cas’ mouth unattended for any length of time, Dean trails his lips over the curve of Cas’ cheekbone and down his jaw. He laughs to himself slightly when he passes over the place he had _wanted_ to kiss earlier, before continuing down to Cas’ neck. He darts up and mouths over the lobe of Cas’ ear, nipping lightly, then moves again and sucks teasing marks onto the column of his throat.

Cas gasps and bucks his hips up into Dean’s. Dean rolls his own hips down into the V of Cas’ pelvis in response, drawing a moan out of them both. Dean then sets his hips on a constant swivel, grinding down into Cas’ lap with abandon. The friction building between them is absolutely amazing, but it still isn’t _enough_ , so he drops a hand to wrap around both of their cocks and Cas _keens_.

“Dean,” he whines, thrusting into Dean’s grip as best he can despite the weight pinning him to the couch. “Please, Dean, _please_.”

Dean obliges in the only way he can, swiping his thumb through their combined precome to ease the increasing speed of his hand over their dicks. He watches as Cas’ jaw drops open in bliss, his eyes lust-blown and half-lidded, and in that moment Dean is convinced he has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

Heat coils in Dean’s gut, and he does nothing to fight it. He tightens his hand, rolls his hips, leans over and touches his lips to Cas’—

Cas comes first, the fluid erupting over his hand and up his chest catching Dean by surprise. Cas goes stiff from head to toe, arching away from the couch with enough force that Dean is almost dislodged from his lap. His eyes, though, remain locked on Dean’s face the entire time. His face shines with enough wonder and bliss that it has Dean’s heart constricting as he hurtles into his own orgasm, his cock spilling across Cas’.

When they’re both spent, exhaustion sets into Dean’s bones and he slumps forward against Cas, the cooling stickiness between them be damned. He lets his forehead drop to Cas’ shoulder while he fights to regulate his breathing, and is fucking thrilled when Cas loops his arms around his waist to hug them more tightly together.

Exactly how long they sit like that Dean doesn’t know, but it’s long enough for their movie to end and the credits to roll. Cas just holds him all the while, apparently unbothered by the mess or the inconvenience of having Dean sitting on him. His hand runs in a smooth, even motion back and forth across the expanse of Dean’s back, and every so often he presses a soft kiss into Dean’s hair.

Eventually, Dean breaks their comfortable silence to say, “I feel the same, you know.”

Cas’ hand pauses only briefly in its movements, but it is still impossible for Dean not to notice. “About what?” he asks cautiously.

“About… y’know.” Dean shrugs, suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious. “I’m… attracted to you. Sexually and romantically, like you said. I feel the same.”

Dean hears Cas’ breath hitch, and before he knows it he finds himself being pulled upright and kissed within an inch of his life, which, _hey_ , he’s definitely gone out worse ways in the past. Death at Cas’ lips doesn’t actually seem like too bad a way to go out, not if it feels like this. It isn’t long until they separate again, both panting from lack of oxygen. Cas smiles at Dean, and it’s _that smile_ , Dean’s favorite smile, complete with bonus eye-crinkles that make Dean’s heart flip when he grins back.

A thought occurs to Dean, and he muses aloud, “You know… Sam’s gone for at least the rest of the week.”

Cas sits up straighter, his eyes widening.

“So maybe I should start getting you acquainted with my bed, huh? Think you’d have an interest in that, Cas?”

Cas nods enthusiastically. “Yes, I would very much have an interest in that.”

Dean beams. “Good. We should get on that as soon as humanly fucking possible, don’t you agree?”

When Cas hooks his arms around Dean’s ass and stands from the couch to _carry_ Dean down the hall to his bedroom, Dean takes it as a yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
